Avengement
by Pyronic
Summary: AU X2. Whilst searching for his past, Logan stumbles upon a mutant in the remains of Alkali base. His name is St. John Allderdyce. Pyro. And things heat up when Logan brings him back to the mansion. RyRo, LoSt.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men. Whilst I feel that this totally bites, I think Wolverine, Rouge, Pyro, Jean, Cyclops, etc., are in great hands with Marvel and whoever else owns them. _

_**Notes: **This idea has been stuck in my head the second X-Men: The Last Stand, started. Odd, considering it is set during X2, but that's my brain for ya. _

_**Warnings: **Extreme AU, language, violence, sex, and pretty much everything else an 'M' rating entails. Heh. Enjoy._

**_Prologue_**

_Mutants. Since the discovery of their existence, they have been regarded with fear, suspicion, and often hatred. Across the planet, the debate rages: Are mutants the next link in the evolutionary chain, or simply a new species of humanity, fighting for their share of the world?_

_They live among us, each possessing special superhuman abilities – sometimes a blessing, and sometimes a curse. _

_And, unfortunately, for both humans and mutants alike, there are just some people who cannot keep their hands off the unexplained._

_0o0_

He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the outside. He wasn't even completely sure that there had ever been a time. Occasionally, fleeting images of sunshine, and grass, and people would flash through his mind. But they were so vague and brief that he could not be sure if they were real, or put there by the bastards who were keeping him.

His name was St. John Allderdyce, and that was the only thing he was certain of. He had heard them mutter it, once or twice, in the beginning. It held a sense of familiarity to him – a strong sense, something that was quite rare here. He snatched it up and ran with it, never letting them know he had it. They would take it away from him for sure.

_Bastards_.

He lived in a tank. He hated it – being surrounded by water every second of every day. There were so many wires attached to his skin that he couldn't ever begin to count them. An over-sized mask was hooked onto his face, and he had enough sense to realize that it was the only thing keeping him alive down here to try and take it off.

He hadn't opened his eyes in quite sometime – years, most likely. He couldn't stand seeing all of the faces in front of him; couldn't stand the looks in their eyes. They looked at him as though he were a _thing_, an _experiment_. As though he had no soul. As though he were not a living, breathing _person_ . . .

"Good morning, Pyro."

His entire body froze at the malicious voice that echoed throughout his small confine. He knew the source. William Stryker, the only scientist who had been . . . _kind_ enough to introduce himself. John hated him worst of all. Only pain resulted from his visits.

"_William_," he croaked into his mask, knowing how much it irritated the man to have John call him that. However, instead of the usual harsh rebuke, all that came was a chuckle, which made John even more anxious.

Suddenly, without even the slightest warning, the water surrounding him began to disappear. His body, which had always been suspended, was now moving rapidly toward the bottom of the tank. Naturally, he panicked, thrashing about madly in what was left of the water. His eyes finally snapped open, only to see his feet hit the floor. Not being used to standing on his own feet, his knees gave out, and his body joined his feet on the floor.

It all happened so fast. The top of the tank was flying open, hundreds of people were surrounding him. The oxygen mask was ripped off of his face, suction cups and needles were yanked from his skin. Someone, he didn't know or care who, had the decency to throw a blanket over his unclothed, shaking form. There were voices – overpowering voices – all around him, clouding his mind, stopping him from thinking. He couldn't distinguish one word from another, but it didn't matter. For the next second, everything was silent, and suddenly, just one person was before him.

"Good morning, Pyro," Stryker repeated, a grotesque smile on his lips. John attempted to sneer in response, but was unable to form anything more than a slight cough.

The bearded man slowly reached out a hand and cupped John's face, jerking his chin up to force him to look him in the eyes. John didn't have the strength to look away. Unexpectedly, he felt something large and sharp slide into his arm – a needle. He jerked at the intrusion, only to have the grip on his face tighten.

"Shush, Pyro, _shush_," Stryker attempted to sooth, a malevolent gleam in his black eyes. "We're simply finishing you. Wouldn't want to be an imperfection, now, would we?"

For a moment, all was silent. Stryker slowly released his face, standing and stepping back. John risked a glance at them all, confused by what he was seeing. They were waiting for something. Waiting for something that he was supposed to do. Something that had to do with whatever the hell they had put in him. He didn't know what.

And then he felt it.

Something hot racing through his veins, enveloping his bones, warming his cold skin. Like a fire released in his body. John had felt this before, in other tests, but only briefly. It energized him, gave him strength. He felt better . . . much better. _Alive_.

He stood up.

" . . . amazing. An instant reaction to the injection . . ."

" . . . already standing . . ."

"I can't wait to see how he performs in field tests."

Tests. More _tests_. They had seen him vulnerable, and now they could see him strong, and he was _still_ an experiment?

"Come, Pyro." William Stryker's voice instantly drew his attention to the other man. The heat that had been steadily slowing was now racing again, faster than before. It was combined with rage – the likes of which he had never felt.

Who were they to think that they could control _him_?

"Come, Pyro," Stryker called again, firmer this time. The heat was growing; he could feel it encasing his hands. It was searching for a release, and it had found one.

"Pyro, _come_!"

John's deep blue eyes suddenly began to glow a fierce red. Slowly, he turned to face his captor, a smug smirk forming on his lips as Stryker took a few steps back. He sent a wink the man's way, and just like that, both of his hands were surrounded in flames.

He spun around, sending the fire sailing toward the wall he had been forced to stare at his entire life. _Bam!_ Demolished. He turned again, and a small flick of his hand had the computers that had controlled him exploding.

The scientists were screaming now – yelling – searching for a way out. John grinned at them, morbidly amused by their futile attempts to escape. He sent fire in their direction, too. They had taken away his life. Now he would take away theirs.

The screaming slowly began to die down. John didn't know if he had gotten Stryker – and found that, oddly enough, he didn't care. The bastard could run all he wanted to. John would kill him in the end.

He stopped throwing his flames, taking a moment to revel in the scent of flame and smoke. Then he began to concentrate. He pulled his fire toward him, allowing it to swallow his arms completely. His eyes were now entirely red, with no sign of pupil or iris.

Soon he would feel the freedom of the air. Soon he would taste the luxuries of life that had been stolen from and denied to him.

He lowered his head, turning to look at those who had survived his assault. The idiots. Should have died when they had the chance. It would have been far less painful.

"My name is John Allderdyce, you sad bastards," he called to them, smirk growing as their eyes went wide in fear. He flung his arms upward, and with a strangled, jubilant cry, sent the fire racing toward the ceiling.

"And I am _not_ an imperfection."

And the Alakali base exploded.

_**To Be Continued . . .**_

_And thus ends the prologue of my first ever X-Men fic. Not as painful as I thought it would be. What says you? Click review and leave me your thoughts, and I might just be inspired enough to write a first chapter._

_Now, hoever, I mess get in the shower. I plan to see X3, for the third time, in just three hours, since I just now found out about the scene after the credits. Pisses me off that I missed it TWICE, so I'm goin' again._

_Hasta la vista, _

_Me_

_Oh, by the way. I stole the first two opening paragraphs from the book. The last sentence is mine. -wink- We're all good, now._


	2. The Forsaken Children

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men. Whilst I feel that this totally bites, I think Wolverine, Rouge, Pyro, Jean, Cyclops, etc., are in great hands with Marvel and whoever else owns them. _

_**Notes: **Wow. That's the most reviews I've gotten for a prologue. Guess I'm continuing. _

_Note2:** THIS IS ONLY THE FIRST CHAPTER! NO MATTER HOW MUCH I TRY, THEY ARE ALWAYS SHORT! I CANNOT HELP THAT!**_

_**To answer a question: **Yes, X1 happened. Just take John out of it, and you're good. _

_**Warnings: **Extreme AU, language, violence, sex, and pretty much everything else an 'M' rating entails. Heh. Enjoy._

_**Chapter One**_

She sat by herself, as she often did during this time of day. Alone in the squashy blue recliner facing the large glass window of the game room. Her brown eyes would scan the outside with gentle concentration, a soft smile on her face as she watched the younger students go about their fun and games. A part of her yearned to have that carefree freedom once again – to be free of the responsibilities that had fallen on her nearly a year ago. She tortured herself by watching, and she knew it. But she just . . . couldn't help it.

Marie D'Ancato, or Rogue, as she preferred to be called, was not alone by force. Kitty Pryde and Jubilation Lee, her roommates, always held an open spot for her on the couch in front of the television. Though Rogue did appreciate the gesture, she was unable to bring herself to comply. The elbow-length gloves on her hands, the long jeans, the scarf – they all reminded her of how she didn't fit in – _couldn't_ fit in. Not even here, in a boarding school for _mutants_.

Professor Xavier had been trying to help her control her power, but their sessions were quickly becoming fruitless, even dangerous. Whilst her power never rebelled against her personally, anytime the professor attempted to enter her head, she could feel it push back. This last time, she knew he had, too. Thus the reason he had ended their session early today.

"What are you lookin' at?" The familiar warm voice of Robert Drake cut into her thoughts, and despite herself, Rogue couldn't help but smile. Bobby was the only student on campus who didn't flinch if she got too close. The only student who had enough courage to risk touching her, even if it was only through clothes. He had even gone so far as asking her on a date, and was now the boy who was unfortunate enough to be labeled her "boyfriend".

Not that he seemed to mind.

"Hey," she greeted. "Class out already?" Bobby just grinned.

"Bathroom," he stated triumphantly, and Rogue gave a small chuckle. "Why are you over here _again_?" Bobby continued, motioning over the chair. "I heard Kitty got into Dr. Grey's private DVD collection and snagged _Spider Man_. Why don't you come watch it with me?" To further his chances, Bobby gave her the largest puppy eyes he could manage, and allowed his lower lip to stick out just a bit. "Please?"

Rogue was unaffected, and simply rolled her eyes and offered a lazy smile.

"I'm good here, thanks," she replied, feeling a small bit of guilt as her boyfriend's expression went crestfallen. "You can go ahead and watch it, though," she added quickly. Bobby only looked torn for a second, before his grin was back in place. Rogue's heart jumped a bit as an immense twinkle shown in his icy blue eyes.

"If you're sure." The brunette nodded, unable to contain her smile as the taller boy reached for her gloved hand. Gently, he grazed his lips over it, sent her one last smile, and then jogged off to sit in her seat between Kitty and Jubilee.

Rogue waited until she was sure Bobby was no longer looking before allowing her smile to slip off of her face. She had felt guilty about dating Bobby the second she agreed to become his girlfriend. It wasn't fair to make him be with someone he could never touch. He was a teenage boy, and Lord knew teenage boys only had one thing on their minds. It wouldn't be long before he noticed that, too, and dumped her for someone he could actually kiss.

With a sigh, Rogue turned back to the window, once again watching the children in their games.

She wished Logan were here. He was the only one who had ever made her feel completely normal; completely wanted. That was something she had been missing since he took off a year ago. And damn it, no matter how much she tried to deny it, she really wanted that back.

**0o0**

Though everyone he had cared enough to ask advised against it, he had taken the back way to Alkali Lake. He had traveled over countless over-run hiking trails, and more than his fair share of thorn bushes. Enough obstacles to give his claws a decent workout. It was the longest, and perhaps most dangerous, way to the lake – he had been offered several short-cuts and rides – but he found himself oddly hesitant to reach it. Almost as a part of him had changed its mind about going there.

Which pissed him off to no end.

Logan had never been a patient man, at least, not in the past sixteen years. Whilst this extended trip was one-hundred percent voluntary, it was slowing driving him mad. He had been traveling to Alkali Lake for nearly a year. Far too long, of that he had decided two months ago. He was worried, strangely enough, about Marie. The memory of her lifeless form was still freshly implanted in his brain. He held no faith in the plastic prison Magneto was now confined to, and couldn't help but fear that the man still had the twisted idea of turning the rest of humanity into mutants. And if that was the case, the metal-loving mutant freak would build the damned machine again.

Which meant he would need Marie. And that thought was almost responsible for sending his ass racing back to Xavier's mansion on Scooter's motorcycle. It was the compelling desire to discover his past that kept Logan surging forward.

He didn't know what he expected to find – not really. Chuck had given him no clues, nothing that he could set his hopes on. He had flown out of the mansion _assuming_ that he was being sent to some place that would trigger his memory. For all he knew, all that could be at Alkali Lake was a pink fuzzy rabbit slipper he had worn before he had been put in the tank.

Subconsciously, something told him different. Something continued to drive him toward what he believed was a dead end. Vaguely familiar scents throughout the mountains and woods were working their way on confirming his hope.

"God, I sound like a poet," Logan muttered distastefully under his breath, frowning at the very thought.

"_Grrrr."_

The amnesiac mutant simply arched an eyebrow at the snarling wolf, unimpressed with the show of fangs. With a snort, Logan released his claws, smirking slightly as the wolf stopped its actions with a jolt of surprise.

"Wanna fight me, bub?" He asked, voice low. When the wolf simply continued to stare, he sighed and retracted the adamantium blades. "Thought not. Don't suppose you could show me what I'm really looking for?"

'_Yeah, Wolverine. Go ahead and talk to the dog. Moron.'_

Logan was surprised when, after just a second's hesitation, the wolf took off in the other direction. Shaking his head, he sighed.

"What the hell have I got to lose?"

Only twenty steps in, and he smelled it. The all-too familiar scent of sulfur, people, and death. Though he would later blame it on pure, morbid curiosity, Logan raced forward, a slight sense of fear racing through his veins.

He hit the clear right after the wolf, but unlike the snow-white animal, he stopped dead in his tracks, never having expected the sight that greeted his eyes.

**0o0**

He couldn't describe what he was feeling right now. It was totally different than anything he had ever experienced in his short life. The exact opposite of what he had been enjoying only a few days before, when he had sent his hellish prison up in an orange burst of fire. He didn't like this new sensation – not in the slightest. It was draining, horrible, forsaken –

_Cold_.

John was in pain from head to toe, but the freezing temperature of the snow thankfully kept his mind away from it. Every time he managed to crack open his eyes, he saw nothing but smoldering debris and _white_. He had no clue as to what this white stuff exactly was, but knew that he would never, ever like it.

He couldn't move. Lord knew he tried; tried so hard that he was certain he had pulled several muscles in the process. He had seriously overused his energy in his rebellion, leaving him weak and susceptible to any attack. Whenever he fell in to unconsciousness, he would see Stryker standing over him, laughing. And then he would be back in his tank; only it would be much more advanced this time. No chance of escape. No hope. No life.

_'Shut up, John,'_ he growled mentally. 

His escape was not going the way he had planned at all. He was supposed to become freed, and then he would run, back into the civilization from which he had been torn away. Somehow, he would stumble home, and there would be people waiting for him. A family. One that had been worried about him, and would accept him for what he was.

'_Alright, a crackpot's dream,' _he admitted to himself. _'But it's cool anyway.'_

The cold was a minor setback, albeit an annoying one. Not exactly how John had hoped his fist outing would be, but it worked. As soon as he got himself to his feet, he would put the rest of his plan into action.

Every minute he stayed still was another minute he put himself in danger. He wasn't an idiot – he knew Stryker had gotten out of the base before it had blown up. John knew that he could be unfortunate enough to be important to the man, and thus fall victim to a recapture. Despite himself, he shuddered at the thought.

The sound of crunching suddenly assaulted his ears. On reflex that he had been forced to acquire, John instantly locked into self-preservation mode, joints bent so that he could spring up at any second. Screw the fucking pain. Slowly, he turned his eyes to the source, and felt a small tinge of fear in the pit of his stomach.

A man, taller and prouder than any he had ever seen, was standing two yards away, staring at John with a mixture of surprise and a foreign emotion etched on his face.

The pyrotic mutant took no chances. Before either male could blink, he was on his feet, his mind screaming with pain, and his arm stretched forward, fire shooting from the palm.

**0o0**

Logan should have seen it coming, really. His instincts had always been top notch, never failing him, never leaving him to fend for himself. He _never_ approached anyone without caution, especially not someone in such a suspicious, compromising position as the pale boy he had stumbled over. Who in the hell went out in the snow only clothed in a pair of thin pants? Pants that had obviously been _wet _whilst being worn.

But he was going soft these days, and didn't even think to move out of the way of the hurtling flame. It hit him full blast, and any mortal man would have perished. It hurt like seven kinds of hell, more so than when Magneto had bent his metal body with his twisted powers. He could feel his skin frying off, all the way down to the metal, heating it, which only added to the pain. For what seemed like hours, the fire raged before beginning to die. He could feel his tissue and skin slowly reforming. His clothes, oddly enough, were only singed, which Logan suspected had something to do with the professor's temporary hold on them. His hair was rapidly popping back into place, and with a shake to remove the soot from his person, Logan turned back toward the boy.

"Self-healing or not, that hurt. _Don't _do it again," he snarled. The younger man did not seem to take the hint, though, and raised his hand again, causing Logan to sigh. However, all that followed was a small, short-lived burst of flame. The boy collapsed to his knees, and then fell back, obviously thoroughly exhausted. Logan sighed again.

"_Shit." _He stepped forward, keeping his claws inside, having no immediate intention of killing the boy. Definitely going soft.

Well, there was no way in hell he was going to pull another 'Marie' and rescue and take this mutant to Xavier's. No way.

"_Don't. Touch. Me_." The brunette pyromaniac growled between gasps for air. Logan watched with disguised concern as the boy attempted to pull himself away, and froze when he caught his eye. There was resentment there, as well as a large amount of rage. A glimmer of intelligence rarely seen surrounded the irises. And in the center, though faint, was a spark of emotion he had only seen so strong in Marie. _Fear. _A deep fear. One that could only be brought about by extreme horrors.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya, kid," Logan snapped, and the mutant winced and looked away. Logan took the moment to examine their surroundings, frowning in surprise as he did so. Though most everything was burned to a crisp, some things were left smoldering, but standing. Several broken computer monitors were perched atop burned electronic boxes that held more buttons than Logan could care to count. Several wires were scattered all about the ground, some with needles on the ends, others with suction cups. What looked to be hospital equipment was all huddled in the corner of what had obviously been a room, just next to . . .

Logan froze. The remains of a tank – not unlike the one in his nightmares – was staring him right in the face.

"If. You're looking for the. Other scientists. You're too late," the other mutant rasped out, reminding Logan he was still there. The older man whirled around, watching the boy relax into the snow, a satisfied, sadistic smile on his face.

"They did experiments on you?" He blurted out. The boy, however, didn't reply. Logan noticed, not happily, that his breathing had somewhat even out, signifying unconsciousness.

"_Shit," _Logan growled, exasperation and anger flowing over him. "Shit, shit, _shit_." He walked over toward the half-naked mutant, and growled again.

He was going to have to pull a 'Marie', rescue the mutant, and take him to Xavier's. And he couldn't even do that today – it was already showing signs of approaching night.

Gently, despite his mood, Logan lifted the younger man up, holding him infant style.

"I don't care what they did to ya, kid," the Wolverine stated gruffly, his boots crunching through the snow. "If you burn me, you're dead. End of story." And he began to head back toward the highway where he had hidden Scooter's bike, ignoring the wolf, which was slowly making its way toward the other side of one of the walls. Had Logan followed, he would have noticed the stairs in the ground, which would have lead him to all of his answers and more.

**0o0**

Three hundred miles away, resting quite comfortably in his own personal hospital, in his own personal bed, William Stryker clicked the 'send' button on his lap top computer, sending information to his partners on the mutant control formula. In just a month, his plan would be put into action.

Not that he had anything personal against the president. In fact, he rather liked the man. However, sometimes sacrifices just had to be made.

And Kurt Wagner was the perfect mutant to carry that out.

_To be continued . . . _

**You have my word that the nextchapter will be longer, _much longer_, and _much better_.**

**I had to getthis storystarted somehow.**

_More John and Rogue in the next chapter, with Logan/John **bonding**.More detailed, more action . . . you get the picture. You better hope you do, anyway, 'cause I ain't giving nothin' else away. -smirk- Update coming soon._

_On a lighter note, I got to see X3 again yesterday. The scene after the credits wasn't that long, but it was definitely worth it. Did y'all know that Fox has confirmed X4? I'm ecstatic._

_Also, when you review, if you would like me to reply, please just say so (I promise not to think it rude). I used to reply, but then I got bawled out by some moron who called me a 'stalker', which totally destroyed my taste for the whole thing. So, yeah, just tell me, and I will. Pinkie swear –wink-._

_Speaking of reviews, you know what to do. _

_Valve,_

_Me_

_By the way, sorry about Marie's last name. I had a brain fart and couldn't remember how to spell it to save my life. Sorry. _


	3. Arrival

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men. Whilst I feel that this totally bites, I think Wolverine, Rouge, Pyro, Jean, Cyclops, etc., are in great hands with Marvel and whoever else owns them. _

_**Notes: **Yes, you guys, this is a story that contains the Rogue/Pyro pairing. Don't worry, though. I have no intensions of making it cliché. Hopefully, even the non RyRo fans will enjoy it. And, yes, Rogue does play a big part in this story, about, if not equal to, the amount of John and Logan. So, if you're not a Rogue person, you probably really won't like this story._

_Also, please read the summary. There's going to be Logan/Storm, too._

_**Notes 2: **This chapter was difficult to write, especially with John and Logan. They just don't mesh naturally, as I discovered the hard way. I hope you like it._

_**Warnings: **Extreme AU, language, violence, sex, and pretty much everything else an 'M' rating entails. Heh. Enjoy._

**Chapter Two**

A small, uncharacteristic smirk fluttered onto the face of Senator Robert Kelly II as he ambled briskly down the southern corridor of the senate building. His thinning blonde hair did not move in the slightest at his pace, covered with far more gel than could ever be necessary. His blue eyes held a malicious sparkle of mirth, always present, that had many of his friends and family members slowly increasing their distances from him. In fact, last week, his mother had even gone so far as to outright scold him for his new, disturbing behavior and attitude. "Are you doing _drugs_, Robert?" She had screeched into the phone, so loud his entire staff had overheard. "You're not a little boy anymore, you know!".

Little did Anna Kelly know her "little boy" had been dead for nearly a year, and a Metamorph now walked in his place.

Raven Darkholme. Mystique. The blue-skinned, yellow-eyed mutant held no fondness for being forced to take the form of a man. Let alone one who had once wished to restrict and eventually rob the freedom of every mutant on the planet. If Mystique could be doing as she please, she would be back in her mutant form, standing comfortably by the side of Eric Lehnsherr, and plotting how to annoy the hell out of the Wolverine the next time they crossed paths. Unfortunately, her desire was unreachable at this time.

Eric was hidden away from her, locked up securely in a plastic prison Mystique had yet to locate. Charles Xavier and his beloved X-Men had seen to that, somehow without getting themselves caught in the process. She would go after Xavier, but Eric would not appreciate such an action. As much as the metal-loving mutant despised the telepath, he did not like to see his old friends suffer or hurt in any way.

So Mystique settled for serving Magneto in a different way. She had worked, and succeeded, at demolishing he Mutant Registration Act. She had obtained and destroyed ever paper that listed identified mutants in the United States, Canada, and Mexico. More than a few idiotic politicians had met untimely 'accidents' when they meddled too much in mutant affairs. Thus the reasoning behind her current location.

The highly unused office of General William S. Stryker.

It was rumored that William Stryker conducted unlawful experiments on mutants, and had been doing so since before Mystique had joined Eric's brotherhood. In her eyes, these were actions that warranted a slow, painful death. It was human-to-mutant hostility in its highest form, and Lord knew how many had died by his hands.

With practiced ease, Mystique picked the lock to the office, smirk growing into a satisfied smile as it clicked, and the door popped open. The second she was through the doorframe, the skin of Senator Kelly shifted into her own scaly blue. It was night, no one should be around to see. She quickly shut the door behind her, and was in the computer chair in the blink of an eye. With one precise movement, she had the computer booted.

"F5, Ctrl 4359, AX alt," Mystique muttered under her breath, tapping the keys as she said them. White teeth flashed victoriously as she skipped over the required password, and she made a mental note to thank Mortimer for the code. With subdued anxiety, she watched the screen unfold, only to reveal two folders and a trash can.

"_Failed" "Successful" _the folders read.

"And that is not obvious in the slightest?" The woman scoffed, moving the mouse to "successful". Again, only two files followed.

The sight of _'The Wolverine'_ , did not surprise her, though she felt a moment of rage on her fellow mutant's behalf. No doubt when Logan found out that Stryker would be meeting a quite painful death, though unfortunately quick. Mystique forced her golden eyes to move away from the name of her obsession, and instead focused on the other one. The term 'Pyro' instantly caught her attention, and she clicked on it without hesitation.

Her eyes widened, and a hungry, pleased expression crossed her face as she read.

Eric would _like_ this one.

**0o0**

_They had forgotten him._

_No one had been in during the last few days. He was starving – his stomach twisted in painful knots every few seconds, and his throat was beyond dry with thirst. He was freezing in his tank, the water that was usually kept at room temperature now just below lukewarm. The oxygen that continuously flowed though his mask was beginning to slow and thin, making it extremely difficult and exhausting for him to breathe. His small, thin limbs were heavy with fatigue. _

_They had abandoned him – left him to die. What he had prayed for had finally come true, and slowly, it was killing him. _

_He was only nine. Or ten. He couldn't really remember. It was probably ten. It had to be. He felt as though he had been here long enough to be ten. _

_His little water prison._

_Suddenly, a violent shudder, the likes of which he could not recall ever having, ripped through his body, causing him to spasm against the wires and held him in place. He could feel the life leaving him – feel himself slipping away. The pain slowly began to die, along with his very soul . . . _

_And then, suddenly, there were voices. Frantic, concerned; emotions that he could tell were not for him. Food was being pumped back into his body; his oxygen was normal; the water temperature increased. A voice – Stryker's voice – was coming over the intercom. _Apologizing_ to him, claiming another experiment had escaped, and nearly killed them all._

_And then everything changed. Stryker was standing in front of him, smirking maliciously. He nodded toward one of the attendants, and without warning, something shot into his tank._

_A wall of toxic fire was suddenly surrounding him. Burning him. It wasn't normal fire. It was killing him. The pain, it was intense. He _was_ going to die . . ._

With a desperate gasp, John's stunning blue eyes snapped open, only to slam shut again at the harshness of the bright sun. Almost immediately, he knew that something was different. He was no longer at the mercy of the cold. Instead, he was covered by something thick and warm, and lying on something soft and comfortable.

_What the hell was going on?_

"Awake now, kid?" Growled a voice from off to his right.

John froze, his breathing barely audible. The voice . . . the man from yesterday? But, he had killed him! Hadn't he? A groan erupted from his lips. The sound of shuffling feet caught his attention, and then a gentle whistling sound that was immediately followed by a dimming light. Cautiously, John cracked his eyes open again, only to find his surroundings nearly completely dark, and the tall man that he had attacked standing over him.

"You need to get up," stated the stranger gruffly, stepping back and turning the other way. "We lose the room in an hour, and I'm not particularly fond of the idea of having a pissed off manager yelling at me. I bought you some clothes. You need to shower, and we'll get something to eat on the way."

"What's going on?" John demanded, sitting up. The man turned back around, and the fire mutant flexed his hand pointedly. "Where am I, who are you, and what do you want?"

"Want?" The other scoffed, plopping down on a stiff, uncomfortable-looking chair. "Kid, all I wanted was some answers. I almost get them, too, and then I found you, nearly naked, in the snow in the middle of the woods. I don't _want_ anything but to get you medical help that you obviously need, and go home." For a moment, all was silent, and then the man thoughtfully added, "and you're at Dundee's Over-Night Inn."

It was not lost to John that the man had not given his name, something that kept him on his guard. He remembered sending a ball of fire at this man, the same size as the one that had destroyed all of the computers in the lab. A blast like that should have killed him, just like it had the other scientists. But, here he was, sitting across from him, not so much as a mark on his face.

John was utterly confused, and it must have showed on his face, for the man sighed.

"Look, kid --."

"John," the other interrupted, not holding much fondness for titles.

"John," the man conceded tightly. "I'm not a scientist. I don't want to lock you up and do experiments on you because you're a mutant. If I wanted to do that, I could just test myself."

"You're a mutant?" Inquired John, looking slightly surprised, hostility forgotten. He had never been introduced to another mutant before. Stryker had claimed it to be imperative that he didn't. The man smirked, a mixture of amusement and pride on his face. Without warning, he lifted his fist, and three long, sleek metal claws popped out with a _snikt_. John jumped back in surprise, whilst the other mutant simply stared at them in fond fascination, before turning and smirking.

"I think that answers your question." Slowly, the man retracted his claws, and then looked John steadily in the eyes. No words were exchanged. Instead, John saw. Saw in the man's eyes what was often reflected in himself. Loss, pain, hope, fear, rage, hunger, pride. John lowered his eyes, and the man snorted in approval.

"Hurry up. I had to hot-wire a car since you won't fit on the bike with me. I want to get out of here before anyone realizes it's missing, and that I have it."

John had no friendly thoughts of his new so-called companion. The man meant well, or so he claimed. If his intentions were truly to take him to get help, then John would tag along. If only because going with him would get him further away from here. Besides, he was slightly curious to see what this car-thing was.

**0o0**

Once again, she had gone a night without seeing her bed. She had gone twenty-four hours without her head resting on her soft, feather-stuffed pillow. Gone without being wrapped tightly in the warmth of her warm, fuzzy comforter. She hadn't closed her eyes for longer than a minute since the night before last. In short, she had not slept in over twenty-four hours.

And, strangely enough, she did not feel tired in the slightest.

Rogue had spent the night in the Game Room with Adam Jones, a younger student that had become somewhat like a little brother in her eyes. She had shared in the boredom that forever plagued him, watching snippets of programs before he would blink and turn the channel. They shared popcorn, as they always did during their nights together, and would occasionally share random thoughts, mostly about teachers and students. Rogue admitted that she viewed Miss Monroe, or Storm, as a relative-like figure, and Jones had outright stated his dislike of Bobby Drake when it came to her. Rogue had laughed at that one, realizing then that the sibling feeling was mutual. Those nights were precious. They made Rogue feel normal. Jones would never flinch away from her, even when she went to pull thrown popcorn from out of his hair.

But it was morning now, and the moment had been shattered. Rogue was now in her dorm room, struggling to get dressed before Kitty and Jubilee decided to wake. She was far from being in the mood to face their interrogating questions, especially when they were teasing ones about her spending the night with Bobby. Those really ate away at her. Didn't they understand how inconsiderate and hurtful those words were to her? Didn't they understand that she would give anything to spend the night with Bobby? To just hold his hand? To kiss him?

But her anger didn't last. She couldn't blame either of them. They were just acting like normal teenage girls, and were not used to having to screen their thoughts for someone like her.

A slight knock on her door jarred Rogue from her thoughts, and she scrambled to pull on her left glove as Storm's shocking-white head poked through the door.

"Rogue?" She called softly, smiling gently when she spotted her. Rogue struggled to smile back. "The professor would like to see you when you're ready."

The teen's eyebrow furrowed. "Did he say why?" Storm shook her head, her expression sympathetic as she gazed at the wayward girl that had blown in here only a year ago. Rogue's face instantly went crestfallen.

"I'm sorry, honey. You'll just have to wait and see. You're out of classes for the day, too," the weather goddess added quickly, hoping to lighten her student's sudden dark mood. "I'll make sure that Bobby gets all of your assignments for you."

"Th – thanks," Rogue sputtered out, glancing at the clock. _7:30. _"Can you tell him I'll be there in an hour?" She watched as Storm's eyebrows crinkled, knowing that she was stalling. Relief flooded over her body as the older woman nodded.

"Of course, Rogue. Don't take too long now, alright?" Offering one more sympathetic smile, the white-haired weather mutant closed the door, and Rogue flopped back onto her bed. She knew exactly what the professor wanted, and wasn't too sure she was up for any "power-therapy/power-testing" today.

One thing was for sure, though. She was going to take one long-ass shower, and waste as much time as possible.

**0o0**

Though Logan had checked out of the hotel on time, they had not actually left until fifty-five minutes later. As it turned out, the kid – John – had absolutely no idea as to what a shower was, with the ideas of soap and shampoo being equally lost on him. It had taken Logan fifteen minutes to cover the basics of personal hygiene with him, and then five more minutes to explain how to work the shower. Even after that, John had been hesitant to get into the water, which was perfectly understandable, no matter how annoying, so that had been another fifteen minutes before Logan had actually heard him get in.

He had to hand it to the kid, though. He took really quick showers for a teenager.

It had also become instantly apparent that John hadn't a clue as to the aspects of current life. He had been confused at the term "car", Logan had seen that the second he had said the word. And when they had finally managed to get outside, John had studied the snow with such intensity that Logan realized he didn't know what it was. He wasn't even going to think about the whole seatbelt thing.

And, thus, here they were, two mutants who had been the victims of experimentations, yet were completely different. Logan couldn't remember one bit of his previous life before fifteen years ago, and John couldn't escape from it.

They rode in silence for the first hour, Logan smoking one of his much beloved cigars, and John pressed as close to the door as he could get. Occasionally, the self-healing mutant would look at his companion, only to see his wide blue eyes taking everything in with a rapid pace that made even him dizzy. Of course, Logan would have had the misfortune of picking out and stealing a car that didn't have a fucking _working_ radio.

"Do you do this kind of thing often?" John had asked after a while, his voice so low that Logan could barely hear it.

"What kind of thing?" He growled in response, not noticing the scowl John sent to him in return.

"Picking up strangers. You know, "kids"" The teen clarified. He watched as Logan sighed, fascinated by the smoke that slowly escaped his mouth.

"Once," the older man replied, with a tone that made it clear he didn't want to be having a conversation. "A year back. I came across a girl, who's about your age now. She was running away, and I gave her a lift." John arched a suggestive eyebrow, turning his gaze back to the scenery outside his window. None of this was lost to the Wolverine, who snorted in mild amusement.

"How is it," he began, catching the boy's attention, "that you have spent nearly your whole life locked away, and have the same normal, perverted mind of any teenage boy?" John simply stared at him, having no answer to give, and Logan sighed. "There were some really powerful, bad mutants after her. I got caught in the middle of it, and eventually, we grew closer. She's like a little sister to me. Nothing more, nothing less. Got that?" John had enough sense to nod.

"Where are you taking me?" He asked, effectively changing the subject. Once again, Logan snorted.

"I already told you, you need medical attention. I don't care if those freaks made you superhuman, being half-naked in temperatures below freezing _isn't_ healthy. I happen to know a very good doctor --."

"Doctor," spat John distastefully, cutting Logan off. He sat up in his seat, rage flashing in blue eyes that were slowly turning red. "You mean a scientist. Someone who's going to poke and prod me and try to figure out what makes me _tick_ . . ."

"_No_!" Logan snapped, a little louder than he had intended. John flinched away at the harshness, the red in his eyes disappearing, but Logan was too riled up to even think of offering an apology. "The place I'm taking you to is a safe haven for mutants – a _school_. For _children_. Experimentation on mutants has no allies there." John fell silent, practically feeling the anger radiating off of his companion. "Just, shut up for a while, ok?" The boy nodded, and with a sigh, Logan glanced at the clock.

It was only 8:30 in the morning.

**0o0**

Rogue took her time reaching Professor Xavier's office. She walked as slow as she could without it being too obvious, stopping to examine something she promised herself she had never noticed before. She knew that the professor knew she was stalling, and appreciated that he didn't try to encourage her to hurry. She was pretty sure that her power would not appreciate that, and she really didn't fancy the idea of having a headache at the moment.

As predicted, Kitty and Jubilee had slammed her with perverse questions the moment she had gotten out of the shower. She really, truly, honestly despised Friday class hours. What other school started first period at ten o'clock in the morning? Thankfully, the excuse of having to go see the professor had gotten her out of yelling at her two friends. Of course, then she had run into Bobby, who had early detention with Scott for some stupid prank. Her boyfriend had, ignoring her protests, walked her as far as he could to the professor's office before he had to turn.

So now, here she was, ready to face hell alone. Slowly – painstakingly – she reached out her gloved hand, and moved to knock on the door.

"Come in, Rogue," called the professor's voice through the thick wood. Despite her anxiety, the cursed mutant had to roll her eyes. Her hand had not even touched the door. Apparently, being discreet was not in Xavier's agenda for today.

She walked in.

The first thing Rogue noticed was Jean sitting on the leather chair that was usually her seat, a leather briefcase at her feet. The Wolverine inside of her was practically growling with suspicion, which was quite odd, considering his feelings for the red-haired doctor. Xavier then rolled up to her, smiling softly, and gently grasped her small, gloved hand. Rogue flinched at the contact.

"This is goin' to hurt, isn't it?" She asked softly, her southern accent beginning to surface from her nervousness. The professor gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"No, my dear," he said kindly. "Jean is simply going to hook a small machine to you the will measure your power outbursts. Our sessions will go as normal." Seeing her confused look, her enlightened her. "I am sure that you have felt your powers growing." Rogue nodded. "Well, this will simply tell us how much, so that we may alter your sessions to help you to learn to control it. Alright?" The teen nodded again, and with warm eyes, the professor led her toward another, more comfortable leather chair.

As he rolled away, Jean stepped forward, a small, electrical box in her hand. She smiled soothingly at Rogue as she attached it to her arm, and then went back to her seat.

"Alright, now, Rogue. Pay attention to my voice. Relax. This is no different than yesterday," stated the professor firmly. Rogue gave an affirmative, shaking slightly as she closed her eyes, trying to focus. Her power, which had been going frantic at the attachment of the box, steadied slightly under her command. She could feel the professor coming closer, carefully, so he would not startle her. Her mutation sparked at his approach, annoyed, and she attempted to settle it. But as the professor drew nearer, it was having no part in it. It began to push back.

"Rogue," the professor warned. "You need to control it. It feels threatened."

'_Then back off!' _she thought desperately. She knew this had been a bad idea.

Apparently, she had not projected the thought. The professor was still coming closer, and her power was still going berserk. She could feel Xavier reach for her hand.

"Professor." She heard Jean call. And then it happened.

It was almost like watching a slow motion movie, with you as the star and as a viewer. Her power moved her aside with gentle tenderness, holding true to its loyalty to its mutant. And then it surged forward, splitting in half as it reached her arms. Her cocoa brown eyes snapped open in time to see her mutation devour the box on her arm, and then she felt the rest of it surge toward her fingers. Before she could stop it, it burst out, enveloping the professor. She could feel his life force and telepathy flow into her body. She could feel the drain he was experiencing. Part of her did not wish to release him. Part of her wanted it, all of it. That magnificent power that he possessed . . .

"_No!" _Rogue jerked her hand away, watching with horrified eyes as the professor, too, jerked back, gasping for breath. Jean was staring at her with a mixture of fascination and fear, and Xavier, when he managed to open his eyes, a horrified realization. The box fell off of her arm.

"Ah, ah told you!" She cried, slipping on the glove she didn't remember taking off. Without another word, she whirled around, the door in front of her flying open to allow her through, and then slamming shut in the two telepaths; faces.

"I honestly don't know if we'll be able to help her, professor," whispered Jean, examining something on the floor. Xavier sighed, and slowly shook his head. His power was already returning.

"We just need to leave her be. Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way." He, too, was examining the box on the floor.

Or, at least, what was left of it.

**0o0**

_He was back in the tank._

_It was warm again. They were feeding him once more, and a healthy amount, too. He didn't feel hungry at all. The oxygen in his mask was plentiful – he hadn't coughed once. There had been no poking, no prodding. They scientists had basically left him alone, except for seeing to his comfort. And, best of all, William had stayed away._

_He liked it when William stayed away._

_It was like paradise now. Something just short of Heaven, yet very, very close. He had never felt so content, so safe, his entire time in the tank. It was nearly comparably to his life before, at least what he could remember of it. _

_And then, without warning, Stryker was standing in front of him. That same malicious smirk on his face, the ever-present malevolent twinkle in his eyes. The jets in his tank suddenly stopped spewing water, and were instead releasing something very, very hot._

"_Happy birthday, Pyro."_

_And then he was surrounded by green, acidic fire. It nipped at his ankles, covered and burned his arms and hands. The pain was unimaginable, unbearable. Fire had never hurt him before, but this, this wasn't fire. _

_The pain . . ._

"Stop!" John's eyes snapped open once more, and he shot up from his slouching position in his car seat, only to slam his head against the roof. The pain of the impact didn't even register as he felt up and down his arms, ran his fingers over his face, tapped his knees together, anything that would alert him to a burn.

"Nightmare?" John's head jerked around, only to see that the man wasn't even looking at him, but instead focusing on the road on which he was driving.

"Yeah," he replied after a moment, leaning back against the cool glass of the window. "Yeah, just a nightmare." The man grunted in response, and John turned to examine him again. A sense of rage filled him as he saw an emotion on his face that he utterly detested. _Pity_. He had seen it on the faces of one or two scientists, but they had never helped him. Only felt sorry for him. Sorry for what they were doing to him.

"Don't look at me like that," he warned. The man arched an eyebrow, eyes still on the road.

"I'm not even looking _at_ you," he stated simply, taking another drag off of his cigar. John's lip curled.

_Funny._

The brunette teen saw flash at the end of the man's cigar. Something that made his blood churn; something that made him feel completely, utterly whole.

Fire.

So little that he had barely noticed it. The anger he felt toward the man began to travel up his spine, and without knowing exactly what he was doing, John smirked slightly at the cigar.

It exploded. The man let out a string of highly inappropriate curses as the orange flame jumped from his destroyed cigar to his arm. Even John was surprised by the action, never having thought it would be so bad. The car swerved, and he pressed himself as far back in his seat as he could get as the man attempted to steady the vehicle and put out the fire at the same time. This wasn't exactly what he had wanted to happen.

"_Shit." _John heard the stranger growl. "Fucking hell!"

Again, without knowing what he was doing, John threw out his left arm, his hand clasping the fire. The man tried to jerk away, but the pyrotic mutant held fast, and slowly, the flames began to flow _into_ him. They mixed with the fire that was already running through his veins, and John drew back to adjust to the sensation.

They pulled over on the side of the road, both men breathing heavily. The man gave him a look.

"That's quite a power you got there," he stated between breaths. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't burn me again."

"You pissed me off," John managed to growl, his blood beginning to cool. "That look you had on your face, they . . . they used to look at me like that, and it pissed me off." The man's eyes showed his confusion. "Pity. You pitied me for my nightmares."

"Kid," said the man after a moment, shaking his head. "I don't pity _anyone_. It's just not my style. In case, I wouldn't pity you." He held his fist forward, and once again extended his claws, smirking slightly as John jumped a bit. "My mutation is self-healing – rapid, too – it's what keeps me alive. These." He gave the claws a little swish. "These were given to me, in a genetic experiment."

"What?" John sputtered, eyes widening. Slowly, the three metal claws were retracted.

"That's why I was at Alkali Lake. The professor of the school sent me there, saying that I might find some answers and what not." With a sigh, the man grabbed the stick standing out of the steering wheel, and the car began to move forward. "I understand about the nightmares, kid."

Though rode in silence for a minute, John's mind racing the entire time. This man, who had rescued him from the remains of his lab, was just like him. The product of genetic experiments, only ones that were far worse than anything John had ever gone through. Self-healing or not, the introduction of metal claws had to be painful. And the man suffered through the same tormenting nightmares that he did. His first impression had been entirely wrong.

"Thank you," John finally said, the words completely foreign on his tongue. "Sir," he added as an afterthought. To his surprise and slight annoyance, the man snorted.

"Logan."

"What?" John blinked, frustration forgotten. The man shot him a sideways glance.

"My name's Logan." John gave a slight smile, though it disappeared at Logan's next words. "Get ready. We'll be at the school in ten minutes."

Great.

**0o0**

Ororo Monroe was beautiful. It was a wonder that she had not been worshipped as a goddess before the discovery of her powers. With deep mocha skin, large, dazzling brown eyes, and soft, long snow-white hair, she was the epitome of stunning.

Not that she ever realized it, of course. Modest to the core.

The weather witch ambled slowly about her room, rolling her shoulders and sighing with relief as they popped. She had taken the day off from teaching, assigning study hall for her students instead, leaving Peter Rasputin in charge of making sure none of them skipped class. Though, at times, Peter could be just as restless and stupid as any other teenage boy, when given a responsibility, he would see it through. None of those kids would be getting out of class early today.

Secretly, Storm would have liked to see them try.

It was raining outside – a peaceful rain that she hadn't caused. It left her feeling calm, collected. Which was what she needed right now. Because lately, she had been feeling different. She had an unexplainable feeling that something was going to go terribly, horrifically wrong. And it unsettled her deeply.

She of all people knew how fast the weather could change.

A sound suddenly caught her attention. Tires pulling up on wet cobblestone, brakes being slammed on none to gently. Curiously, she moved toward the window, only to spot a unfamiliar car that made her eyebrow crinkle. The professor had not said anything about new students arriving today. However, further study caused a smile to blossom across her pretty face, and the weight that had been on her shoulders to lessen even more. Rogue would be happy. Logan was back.

And it looked like he had brought another person home with him.

**0o0**

Logan put the car in park with a vicious hit to the stick, grinning widely as the vehicle didn't move. There was no doubt in his mind that Chuck would lecture him about stealing another person's property when he saw the stolen car, and oddly enough, it made him feel even more satisfied.

A glance at John instantly squashed the somewhat happy feeling.

His new charge had himself pressed up against the door again. His blue eyes were wide, and slightly scared as they stared up at the large mansion. Briefly, Logan wondered if Marie had been the same when Storm and Wonder Boy had brought them here the first time.

"Scared, kid?" He asked. John jumped slightly, startled, and quickly shook his head.

"No." Logan snorted disbelievingly.

"Yeah, right. Listen, these people are the good guys. They'll help you, and keep you safe from whoever the hell you seem to think is still after you." John sent him the same side-ways glance Logan had shot him all day.

"And if they can't?" The older man shrugged.

"Then I'll get you outta here. I already promised Marie I'd take care of her, and now I'll promise you the same. Any trouble, and we'll go find some stupid little log cabin in the woods to live in, ok? And don't make me repeat that, because I'm not exactly the most emotional guy on the planet." John smirked, and Logan joined in. A silent pact made, that neither knew would come in affect very, very soon. "Now, come on. I'm hungry."

**0o0**

Rogue knew he was home.

She didn't know how. There had been no sound of an approaching motorcycle, no loud cussing, no obnoxious demands for beer. Nothing that could give him away. But she knew he was there.

She had been hiding in her closet all day, ever since she had run out of the professor's office. She had cried for hours, Xavier's thoughts, memories, and powers overwhelming her. They had all begun to leave the second she had exited the office, but remnants still remained. Enough that when Kitty had rushed in to get her history text, Rogue had drowned in her not-so-innocent thoughts on the male population.

Perhaps that was why she knew Logan had finally come home.

She raced out of the closet and dorm in record time, rushing past Tracy Cassidy with a shouted greeting, clutching Logan's dog tags tightly in her left hand. She flew down the stairs, vaguely aware of Storm a few feet behind her, taking her time, and calling for her to do the same.

Rogue didn't _want_ to take her time.

She caught sight of a tall figure outside the blurred window, causing the exhilaration in her veins to grow. With a large grin on her face, she threw open the door. Her surrogate older-brother's name died on her lips.

The person before her wasn't Logan.

_**To Be Continued . . . **_

_Wow. Six thousand words, fourteen pages, and three days trying to get the characters to do what I wanted them to do. Not bad. Not great. But not bad._

_To answer the same question asked several times, yes. Fox has confirmed X-4**, as well as** Wolverine and Magneto. As in I haven't messed up and assumed one of the named spin-offs was X-4. Don't ask me when it's coming out, 'cause I don't know (if **you** do, tell **me**), but it is confirmed._

_**Next chapter** contains lots of drama, angst, and action. We all know John doesn't play well with others. Let's just say that he and the other characters don't exactly get off on the right foot. X-Men missions, and a little Kurt angst. Sorry, can't really give you much more. I'll blow it. _

_Might be a longer chapter, though. I have a bad habit of making longer chapters as the story gets going._

_I don't know when the next update will be. I'm going to Indiana to visit my dad for two weeks, and my step-mom doesn't like me using the internet. –grumbles- I have ways around, but work with me, ok? Please?_

_Gonna go now. I have a sudden strong desire to clean my room (and it needs it). So, I'll see y'all later._

_Bye,_

_Me_


	4. It's A Sad, Sad World

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men. Whilst I feel that this totally bites, I think Wolverine, Rouge, Pyro, Jean, Cyclops, etc., are in great hands with Marvel and whoever else owns them. _

_**Notes: **Sorry for the long wait! Leaving your awaited chapter on a computer that's 1000 + miles away is not advisable. At least it's out though, right? _

_And thank all of you so much for your reviews. I was shocked by how many I got. I'm glad you like the story. _

_**Warnings: **Extreme AU, language, violence, sex, and pretty much everything else an 'M' rating entails. Heh. Enjoy. _

**Chapter Three**

His name was John.

He reminded her strongly of Logan, from the way his mind felt to the wary, guarded stance he greeted her with. His eyes were cold – that of an unwilling, forced killer. Rogue didn't need his screaming, alarmed thoughts to tell her that her presence was not exactly something he wanted.

His similarities to Logan concerned her. Could he, too, possibly be the victim of mutant experimentations? And if so, what horrors had been inflicted on him? What pains and sufferings could he have gone through to give him the eyes of a war veteran who had seen too much?

However, the second Logan walked up behind John, however, was the second Rogue's mind overwhelmed the personality of Charles Xavier. She no longer held concern for the strange boy in front of her, but merely the tall man behind him.

She watched as Logan gently pulled the younger mutant behind him, locking gazes with her. His mind was far too complex for her to get a reading off of. She did not feel the rush of relief at his return that she expected she would when he offered her a slightly sheepish smirk Instead, she stared at him, a mixture of hurt and anger welling up inside of her as she put two and two together.

Logan had brought back another "lost" mutant. One who, she assumed, had been in a similar situation as herself. Feelings of being replaced overtook her in abundance.

"Rogue," began Logan easily, obviously sensing her apprehension. "It's been a while." She said nothing, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched John shuffle slightly on his feet, apparently just as unnerved as she was. Logan cleared his throat and continued. "This is --."

"John," interrupted Rogue, looking away from the new arrival as he looked up in surprise. "I know."

The proud, collected Wolverine gave her a baffled look. He stepped forward, reaching out a hand as though to grasp her arm. She jerked back instinctively, her gaze now a full-out glare, and Logan moved back. He opened his mouth, obviously intending to question her strange behavior and apparent knowledge, when another voice called out.

"Welcome back, Logan." All three turned to look up at the source, though Rogue quickly looked away at the sight of her crippled professor. The strong telepath continued talking, though well aware of his student's predicament. "Please, come up to my office, and bring young John with you." He turned his gaze then to the multi-colored hair mutant. "Rogue, please meet with Jean and I after dinner. I think we need to talk."

She gave him no acknowledgement that she had heard his words. Slowly, as though unsure as to what they had interrupted, both Logan and his new companion walked through the double doors, John keeping close to the taller man's side. Her glare turned scathing as John through a murderous one in her direction, though she quickly wiped it clean when Logan turned his head. His "We _will_ talk about this later" look only had her head pounding worse.

When all three men were gone, Rogue fell back against the wood-on-stone wall, eyes closed, the oncoming tears of frustration prickling painfully at her lids in desperation to escape. Her anger was so great that she was sure, with the help of the professor's mutation, she could freeze everyone in the school and allow herself some peace and quiet for the sake of sanity. The temptation was incredibly great.

She just didn't know how to do it.

**0o0 **

John was on edge.

The soft growling Logan was emitting, as well as the constant aggravated glances he got from the older man, let him know that his anxiety was quite clear.

Yet John couldn't care enough to tone his apprehensive habits down.

The girl that had so crudely "greeted" him at the doorway of the school of thrown John completely on his guard. The fact that both she, and now the crippled bald man who was leading them down a Victorian-styled hallway, had known his name, had him instantly suspicious. John began cursing himself. Logan had claimed he himself was a victim of Mutant Experimentation. Was it possible that his supposed savior was actually a successful experiment under Stryker's control? Was this whole scenario some elaborate setup devised to get John back in his tank? Back into William Stryker's hands?

His thoughts were interrupted was the elderly man spoke up. John held back a sneer of jealousy at the calmness in his voice.

"Here we are," he announced as they came to a halt in front of a thick, rose-oak door. He opened it with little effort, revealing a warm , inviting, and equally elegant office.

Despite John's previous paranoia, he moved closer to Logan as they entered, opting to stick with his first gut instincts. The door closed lightly behind them. He knew he did not need the protection – his powers were more than enough to bring the entire structure down. But he was unaware of what powers this new mutant possessed, and as it appeared that Logan was a friend of his, staying close to him seemed to be the safest bet. For all involved.

The man maneuvered his wheelchair so that it was located neatly behind the large oak desk situated in front of a tall glass window. For a moment, he just stared at the two of them, making himself appear oblivious to the unease he was causing them. John broke the gaze after only just a moment, instead focusing on the window. Even though Logan had promised to take care of him, organizing a few escape scenarios could prove to be beneficial, if only unnecessary in the long run. He was pretty sure that he could survive the fall. All he would have to do was form a soft cushion of fire on the ground beneath him, and voila! No harm done. The only problem would be crashing through the apparently thick glass without injuring himself, or any others who would be unfortunate enough to be below him.

_'Hello, John,' _the man finally said, once again pulling John's attention away from his thoughts and to him. _'Welcome to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters – **mutants**. I'm Charles Xavier.' _

It only took John a few seconds to realize that Xavier had not spoken the introduction aloud. He took an unconscious step backwards, caught by unimaginative surprise, and the man had the grace to look apologetic.

"I apologize, John," Xavier responded soothingly, this time making his words verbal to all ears. "I'm afraid that's a terribly bad habit of mine. I hadn't meant to frighten you."

John, not finding any comfort in the words, turned an inquisitive look toward Logan, only too see that he, too, was frowning at Xavier.

"_Chuck_," he growled in warning, tone making it quite clear that mind games would not be tolerated. The telepath simply offered him a slight smile.

"I _apologized_, Logan." He did not wait for a response before turning his eyes back to John, smile somewhat softer. Again, the pyrotic mutant could not keep the contact, and looked down. "As I said, John, welcome to my school for mutants. I understand that you have had quite a . . . rough . . . time before Logan found you."

"You could say that," John replied, still not looking up, but making his tone slightly defensive. Xavier took the hint, but continued regardless.

"Genetic experimentations on mutants is never something to be taken lightly, John," the elderly mutant informed him, voice gentle. John stiffened, and his eyes narrowed, finally dragging back up to rest on Xavier. "What those people did to you is not something that can be so easily forgiven."

"_If at all_," Logan muttered under his breath. Xavier ignored him.

"I know that you do not trust me, or anyone, for that matter. And I do not blame you for it. Bu t you were brought you here because you need help, and I have every intention of seeing that you get it." John eyed him, as did Logan, but before either could say a word, there was a slight knock on the door. John's heart began to pound fiercely with anxiety as the professor called out in a cheerful voice. "Come in, Jean."

He inched closer to Logan, body poised in preparation of escape as the oak door gently opened. The sight of a tall, graceful woman caught him off guard. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. She walked with an air of confidence, short burgundy-colored hair swaying slightly as she moved toward the wheelchair-bound Xavier. She smiled broadly as she passed him, one of warm assurance, but he did not return the expression. There was something off about her, something he couldn't quite place. He wondered if Logan, with his heightened senses, could feel it too.

"John, this is Dr. Jean Grey," Xavier introduced, withdrawing John from his unpleasant feeling. "She is the doctor for every person in this school, and I have asked her to examine you --."

"I'm fine," John interrupted in protest, tone painfully firm and harsh. Though Logan had informed him that he would be receiving medical attention, now that he was actually faced with it, he was quite certain he didn't want it. He felt his savior stir beside him.

"You'll be fine, kid," reassured Logan softly. Though his voice was still as gruff as ever, there was an undertone of understanding there. He knew how difficult being in a lab would be.

"John?" This time it was Jean calling him. Slowly, he raised his eyes to greet hers, and offered a deep scowl at her inquisitive look. She didn't appear to be effected by it, instead allowing a slight smirk to cross her lips. "I promise it will be nothing more than a few tes – a routine check up." Her correction did not slip past him.

For a minute, he just stood there. The thought of returning to lab – _any_ lab – was as unpleasant and painful as the thought of seeing William Stryker again. Yet, Logan seemed to think that going with this Jean Grey was safe. Then again, it was possible he hadn't felt the same thing that John had.

"Can he come with me?" He asked suddenly, jerking his head in Logan's direction pointedly. The professor smiled.

"I will send him along shortly. I must speak with him first." At John's hesitation, Xavier quickly added. "It will only be a few minutes, John. I promise."

"Go on, kid," Logan urged beside him. Then, so that only John could hear him, he added, "You'll love it when she takes off your shirt."

John was not given a chance to respond as Jean, who was glaring heatedly at his companion, gently led him from the room.

As the door closed behind him, he felt the painful ache of being cut off from his only salvation.

**0o0 **

He watched John and Jean as they left, gaze lingering on the back of his new charge. The uneasy stiffness of the fire mutant's posture was not lost on him, and he did feel a spark of guilt for urging the young man to continue on without him. Though he knew that Jean provided no danger to him, nor did any other mutant in the school, he knew that John was still to green to go off with someone he didn't know.

Logan didn't like feeling guilt.

"Won't you sit?" Xavier urged, drawing him back to the present situation. The wolverine inside of him scoffed at such a trivial question, whilst outwardly, Logan just snorted.

"I'll stand, Chuck, thanks." The professor simply nodded in response.

He rolled his silver chair toward the large window behind him, and for a moment, merely admired the scenery. Though patience was a far cry off of being one of Logan's virtues, he knew better than to speak, despite that he had a few other things he would rather be doing.

"I must admit," Xavier finally began, not turning around. "When I sent you off to Alkali Lake, I did not expect you to come across a mutant such a John."

"Surprised me, too," the brash man admitted, moving and leaning comfortably against the wall. For a moment, he studied the older man. "Do you know what they did to him?"

"Only to an extent," the professor replied. "I know he's been in the lab since he was five years old, and that he holds much fear and rage toward the people who held him. But as to what was done to him exactly, I have not the vaguest idea. We will have to wait for Jean's examination results." Logan nodded, not having expected much else.

"Will he be allowed to stay here?" He inquired curiously, easily keeping the concern out of his voice. He _had_ promised John that this school would serve as satisfactory sanctuary for him. Should that prove to be wrong, he had made a promise to get both John and Marie out of there.

And he was done with breaking his promises.

"Should he wish to, then, yes, he will be allowed to stay. However, that is all up to him." The professor fell silent again, and Logan was suddenly struck with a bit of realization.

"You didn't want to talk to me about John, did you?" He couldn't see the professor's saddened smile, but already knew the answer.

"Actually, my thoughts were on a different charge of yours," Xavier agreed, turning the chair about to face him.

"Rogue." There was no need for the name to be a question.

"As you might know, I have been working with Rogue to help her learn to control her power." Again, Logan snorted, though the frown on his face showed that he was angry.

"I noticed she was still wearing her gloves," he growled, voice accusing. Xavier sighed.

"We were making some progress, in the beginning," he informed sadly. "I had her working with Angela DuBross, whose power would be nothing Rogue couldn't handle. After a while, however, her power . . . began to manifest."

Logan looked up.

"It became _protective_. If it felt like Rogue was threatened, it attacked whoever was the threat. Angela was in the lab for two weeks after just two_ seconds _of skin-to-skin contact with Rogue. I never told her, assuming it had to do with the amount of contact they had been having. However, the other day, I felt her power pushing _me_."

"Why do I have a feeling that this is going to get worse?" Xavier smiled at him grimly.

"This morning, Jean and I decided to see exactly how far Rogue's power had grown. She was already on edge when we brought her in, no doubt from the continuous failed sessions. When we attached the reader to her, she became worse, as did her power. When I touched, I was absorbed within that very second, and the box was all but obliterated."

"So what you're trying to say," Logan began after a moment, letting the words sink in. "Is that instead of helping her control the power, you made the whole damn thing _worse_."

"Logan," Xavier began, slightly defensive. "We didn't know it would be that bad--."

"_Damn it, Chuck_!" Logan roared, shocking the older man into silence. "She's not some fucking lab rat that you can experiment on! This is hard enough for her as it is! If you didn't know it was going to work, you shouldn't have done anything at all!" He was seething now, fatherly-protectiveness embracing him for the young girl he had once watched die. What was going on with her and the professor was no better than what had happened to John in the fucking genetics lab.

"Logan," Xavier started again, less angered this time. He waited until he had the furious man's attention before continuing. "Rogue's power is changing, and rapidly. Whether or not it will be in benefit of her, I do not know. But it would have happened whether we had used the box or not."

That caught Logan's full attention.

"Changing? You mean, she could eventually be able to … touch people?" The professor sighed.

"Honestly, I don't know. But it will be a very long, and very painful road. You will need to be there for her and John both. And you're not exactly the parenting type."

"I'll handle it," Logan growled, pulling out a cigar and lighting it, ignoring the look Xavier gave him. He would handle it.

He was going to have to.

**0o0 **

Despite the assurance that had radiated in waves off of his savior, John followed the red-haired woman with the cautiousness of an abused puppy. Everything Logan had told him about the school – how safe it was, and how helpful everyone would be – was now of complete irrelevance. Each and every sound, no matter how small or common, had him either jumping or whirling around suspiciously. Thus far, Jean had said nothing of his erratic behavior as she led him down countless brightly lit corridors, but he was not stupid enough to think that she found it normal.

He didn't care enough to offer her any form of explanation.

They took a lot of hallways that looked like they hadn't been used in years – Jean probably wanted to keep him away from the other children. Whether it was done out of concern for them, or for him, he didn't know. And he still didn't care enough to ask.

When they entered the hallway that led to the medical lab, he instantly knew what it was. The white walls and floor, the strong, though distant smell of antiseptic. For a minute, he locked up, and Jean stopped, still not saying a word, just waiting for him to relax and continue. He felt a very soothing emotion run over him, and turned to look accusingly at the red-haired woman.

"Telepath, kind of," she offered, and then gave him a sympathetic smile. "Nothing's going to hurt you here, John."

"I've heard that before," he snapped back hollowly. However, the promise of Logan's eventual arrival had him moving again, following Jean toward the lab. Each step they took brought the poisonous smell of the antiseptic closer, and it was all he could do not to panic and run for it.

"We're here," Jean announced softly, stopping in front of a large, thick metal door. John eyed it warily as she pressed a button on the wall, taking a cautious step backward as it flew open with a volatile hiss. The telekinetic mutant entered, not calling after him, allowing him to choose for himself whether or not to enter.

Once again, despite his better judgment, John trailed after her, examining his new surroundings as he did.

This lab was different from the one he had lived in. There was no tank in sight, and the room was brightly lit so that he could see everything. The thousands of computer boards he had grown accustomed to had not made a home here. Instead, there were a few scattered screens, each blank, but ready to work. There were five beds, spaced out so that there was room for more if need be. The cool gray interior was a far cry from the black he knew. It was warm and inviting without actually _looking_ it, and, against his will, John's body began relaxing.

"You can have a seat on that bed right there," Jean informed, waving toward the middle bed as she moved toward a counter. John obliged, slightly surprised at the comfort the stiff contraption offered. Drawing himself away from the luxuries he had never before experienced, he turned a predatory gaze to the other mutant. He watched carefully as she opened a drawer, but was unable to see anything that she pulled out.

"You're going to have to remove your shirt," she called, not turning around. John felt obligated enough to give the older woman a scowl, but complied with her wishes. With the clumsiness of a two year old, he managed to do away with the offending garment, though he was quite sure it had done more harm to him than he to it. The coolness of the lab instantly assaulted his body, and though he had spent three days in the snow, clothed much the same, he could not help but shiver.

"Alright, John." Jean turned around, holding a few instruments in her hands that he still could not make out. Sensing his apprehension, she offered him a small smile as she set them down delicately on a tray beside him. Then she held up a stethoscope questioningly. "Do you know what this is?"

He had never seen such a thing before in his life, and told her so. She must have found this odd, for a small, barely noticeable frown formed on her face. However, she didn't say anything of it.

"It's a stethoscope. I'm going to put it to your chest so that I can hear your heartbeat. Like this." She set the cool metal lightly upon his pale skin, and inserted the other part into her ears. John watched curiously as an intense look formed on her face, and then quickly disappeared. "Well, that sounds healthy," she said lightly, smiling at him. Again, he did not return the gesture. With a sigh, Jean reached over, picking up something that was all too familiar to the pyrotic mutant.

"Don't," he warned instantly, jumping off the bed, blue eyes focused on the needle. The movement caught the telekinetic by surprise, and she whirled around to face him, the needle clutched safely in her hand.

"John," she said gently. "I need to take a blood sample." John did not even grace her statement with a reply, merely staring at the dangerous object with a look of the utmost fear he could muster up. Once again, he felt another wave of calm roll over him, and moved his eyes to look at Jean.

"I promise it won't hurt. I'm not going to put anything in you, alright?" She soothed, taking a step forward. John did not step back. "I just need to see what they did to you, and figure out if I can reverse it." John scoffed lightly at her words, so soft that Jean could not hear it, and thus, continued. "Now, why don't you come and sit back down?"

"You won't be able to do anything about it," he warned, moving back toward the bed. "Not without killing me, anyway."

"Why don't you let me decide that. Here," she motioned toward the handle bar on the side of the bed. "Hold onto that while I do this. That way you won't hit me or anything." Jean's last words were met as a joke, but John took them seriously, and extended his right hand to grab the metal. Knowing how the process worked, he forced the muscles in his left arm to relax, though he winced as the sharp object slid through his skin and punctured a vein. Unbeknownst to either of them, the metal beneath John's hand began to glow a dark orange and disintegrate whilst Jean carefully took the sample.

John's eyes slowly opened as he felt the slim object pull out of him, and a small, sad smirk formed on his handsome face at the gasp that emitted from Jean's mouth. Slowly, he turned to examine the tube that was supposed to contain his blood.

"I told you," he stated simply, eyeing the red and purple liquid before turning to look at the handle of the bed. Still shocked, Jean followed his gaze. Her eyes widened even more at the sight that greeted her, and on a whim, she sent a mental cry to Charles.

**0o0 **

He awoke with the same empty feeling that had been growing inside of him since the night he had arrived nearly a year ago.

He wasn't a man who slept in late by habit. Or, at least, he hadn't been. Now, however, he had come to realize that it did help his boring, routine days pass by faster. Not to mention that it kept his plaguing situations, both new and old, from causing him much grief.

Eric Lehnsherr was mutant man who had once been a victim in the Holocaust. Viciously pulled away from his parents by the tyrannical, merciless Nazis, he had been twelve and alone in the world. Until he realized his mutation. For three years after that, metal had been his only friend. He did not view it as something that he had control over – something that was a tool at his will. Instead, he saw it as a lifelong friend, one that would always be there for him. One that would help him, comfort him, and protect him. It quickly became a part of him.

Being trapped in a plastic prison had ripped that away, and was killing him.

Yet, oddly enough, this was not his main problem. Not any longer.

Eric and Charles Xavier had been friends for quite a long time. It was Eric who had found Charles, who had showed him that they were not as alone as the telepath had once thought. Together, they began to work to improve the rights of mutants everywhere. It had been his urging that had led Charles to start his school, knowing how much his friend loved to teach. They had sought out students together, including Charles' current protégés, Jean Grey and Scott Summers. They had grown to be as close as brothers, Charles the sensible one, and Eric the reckless, protective older one.

That had been how their downfall had occurred.

Despite Eric's constant, concerned warnings, Charles had felt it a rather brilliant idea to inform one of his other friends of his mutation. That friend happened to be the elder brother of Charles' deceased fiancée. The man had always blamed her death on mutants, for reasons unknown to Eric, and reasons Charles would not share. The revelation was to take place at an Italian restaurant just a block away. Pushing aside his protective feelings, Eric allowed him to go.

That night, Charles had lost the use of his legs, and Jean became aware of her medical talent.

Charles had, in the end, forgiven his attacker. Eric could not. And thus came the spilt. Eric became Magneto, metal-controlling mutant who was intent on raging a war between mutants and humans. Charles stayed as he was – peace-intending – and did everything he could to stop Magento's plans.

And somehow, through all of this, they remained good friends. They could start the morning fighting each other with near-fatal blows of power, and spend the afternoon in the park playing chess. Though they fought against one another, never had betrayal interrupted and poisoned their friendship.

Until now.

The most important thing to Charles Xavier was his school and his students in it. Each and every mutant child that entered there, sad, confused, and afraid, became Charles' own child. His _children_. His _family_.

And, without wanting to, Eric was taking that away from him with monstrous leaps.

Absently, the silver-haired man reached a wrinkled hand to rub the back of his neck. As he it away, his fingers grazed over the throbbing mark that lay in the center. Gently, with soothing movements, he traced over the circular pattern, distaste forming on his face.

William Stryker was visiting him within hours. The few days he had gone without seeing the man had been Heaven, but yesterday, Mitchell Laurio had, in the mot unpleasant of ways, informed him that today would be the day. Today at 12:00 sharp.

In just a few hours, Eric's mind would, once again, not be his.

**0o0 **

"Methane."

They sat in there, the five of them. Logan, John, Scott, Jean, Xavier. Five mutants, yet only one who really mattered.

Jean's voice was like steel grating on Logan's nerves as he examined the charts sprawled out on the wall in front of them. From beside him, he could feel John fidget, but his usual reprimand for such annoying actions could not seem to find a way out of his mouth.

This was barbaric in the worst possible way. He couldn't imagine the pain John's body had gone through to adapt to the poisonous mixture. If the kid didn't kill the bastard who had done this to him, then Logan most certainly would. A nice, long claw right through the throat. Yeah, that would be nice. Not to mention all of the torture that would occur first.

"Where?" Xavier's voice cut into his thoughts. Logan looked up at Jean's sigh.

"Everywhere. It's been injected into his bones, mixed in with marrow. It goes through his veins, into his heart, and back again; recycling. He'll never run out of it."

"Some of the scientists called me the "walking TNT stick"," John informed helpfully, trying to lighten the mood. Logan growled softly at the cruel nickname, and the young mutant's smile faltered. He turned sorrowful puppy eyes toward Jean. "I told you, you can't help me," he finished sadly.

It was pitiful and heart-wrenching, the sight that John made. Once, he had been a mutant with such promise and potential. He could have been one of the lucky ones – a mutant that could walk among humans without them being any the wiser. However, with this added chemical permanently mixed into his blood, he was as dangerous to society as Rogue. The slightest fearful thing to him, or the second his anger spiked, could produce an explosion that could destroy an entire city. Chances were high that John would forever be looked at with fear, once his situation was made public.

And from the looks of it, the young man knew it.

Xavier tore his ancient eyes away from John's hopeless figure, meeting Jean's instead. He could sense that she was holding something back, something she obviously did not want John to know. He frowned for a moment, trying to determine what it was without having her speak the words aloud. However, he eventually turned back to Logan and John, the former of who had quite a murderous look upon his face.

"Logan," he called softly, attempting to draw his younger friend away from his dreams of torture and death. "Why don't you take John down to the kitchen for some lunch. If my sense of time is correct, then the students are outside enjoying theirs. You should come across very few obstacles."

Logan glared at him, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one. He was no fool. He knew that if he left now, there would something said of vital importance, that he would no doubt want to know. However, Xavier gave a pointed glance to John, signifying that it was in his best interest if the two departed. Logan's stubbornness instantly disappeared, and he let out a resigned sigh.

"C'mon, kid," he urged the boy beside him. "Let's go get some grub. If we're quick, we can sneak into Scooter's room and raid his liquor cabinet." John tried to offer an amused smile at this and Scott, catching on to Logan's ploy, called out to him as they left the room.

"Stay out of my room, Logan!" He growled loudly. All that he received in response was a perfect view of Logan's middle finger right before the door closed.

The second he was positive they were alone, Xavier turned back to Jean.

"What is it?" He inquired in his normal fatherly tone. Jean groaned, rubbing her head and sitting down on one of the beds. Scott was quick to her side, but Xavier waited patiently for his answer.

"Obviously, whomever was in charge of John's experimentation was planning on making him the ultimate tool. For what, I have no clue. But with his fire-controlling powers, there's enough methane inside for him to run endlessly. They were probably planning long periods of training for him, to help him learn to control it."

"They never got the chance," Scott finished for her, and Jean nodded in agreement, and raised her eyes to look at the professor.

"John is incredibly volatile, which is far from surprising, considering the circumstances. While I don't think he'll pose more threat here than any other student, should he ever get caught up in what's going on outside of here, the result would be catastrophic."

The two men stared at her intently, and Jean finally finished.

"Should he experience another situation in the same magnitude as the one that caused his power to manifest in the first place, he could ignite the methane in his blood. He would destroy himself and everyone else within a hundred mile radius."

Xavier closed his eyes, shoulder slumping sadly.

**0o0 **

John wasn't exactly sure that he liked kitchens.

He was aware that Logan was harboring a hidden amusement at his confusion when it came to "appliances". Not a harsh amusement, he knew. It was more like the humor he had known as a child, when people would be amused at his wonderment of a television.

Once he found out what was in the refrigerator, however, John decided that _that_ was a machine worth a bit of his affection.

"What's this?" He called to Logan inquisitively, cautiously prodding a large metal machine with four circles on top. He could sense warmth within its confines, something similar to what was trapped within him, and he was intrigued. He heard his companion snort from behind him, but ignored it in favor of getting an answer.

"It's an oven," the metal mutant finally responded, and John could hear the grin in his voice. "Well, the bottom part is anyway. The top is called a stove."

"What's it do?" He traced the rims of the circles in childlike awe, absorbed in what he didn't understand.

"Cooks food," said Logan in a nonchalant voice. And then, he added in a soft undertone, "by catching it on fire." John's face lit up, and he mentally added 'stove-oven' onto his affection list, just below refrigerator.

"_Cool._"

Logan snorted again.

He moved to the table where Logan had his legs propped up, taking the offered sandwich, eyeing it warily before taking a bite. He relished in the delicious taste of turkey, mayonnaise, pepper, and Swiss cheese, painfully aware that this thing, which many took for granted, was foreign to him.

The whole time, Logan watched him with a fond eye. He knew better than to speak with the fire maniac about the previous events, even though he had plenty of questions that he wanted answered. Like the name of the little fucker who had imprisoned him, what they looked like, last known residence, and how quickly he thought they would die of torture.

But he kept his mouth shut about, venturing onto a less deadly, but still dangerous subject instead.

"So, you staying around, kid?" John looked up at this, a bit of mayo on the right corner of his mouth. He licked it away slowly, eyes distant as he contemplated Logan's question.

"Are you?" He threw back, not challenging, but curious.

"Yeah," Logan responded, sparing a glance out of the kitchen window. "I have a friend here who could use my help right now. Besides, I'm not too keen on traveling all the way back to Alkali Lake anytime soon. Took me long enough to convince myself to go there the first time." They fell silent again – a comfortable silence. Companionable. And then John voiced his concern.

"I've never socialized with anyone before, let alone … people my age. What if I mess up and piss people off?" Logan shook his head, a grin cracking on his face.

"Then you show 'em you're the wrong guy to piss around with," he informed gruffly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And if that doesn't work, I have been aching for a fight for months."

John returned his grin, and then shrugged.

"I'll stay as long as you do."

**0o0 **

In a small room, barely larger than a doctor's office, the blue-skinned Kurt Wagner was strapped, bare-chested, to an uncomfortable metal table. His white eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and horror, and his breathing so rapid that it was a surprise to everyone that he hadn't started hyperventilating.

Not that they would have helped him if he had. At least not out of concern, anyways.

There were fresh, pained tears flowing freely down the sides of his face, in a never-ending river of his heartache. The prayer of God was endless upon his lips, interrupted only by passionate cries for his beloved rosary, which was resting on a tray just within his sight.

No one complied. No one cared to end his pain. No one bothered to think that, perhaps, this mutant held the same emotions that they did.

And William Stryker, newly released patient from his hospital, watched the entire ordeal with a sickening smile on his face.

Everything was going as planned.

**0o0 **

Classes were over for the day. Not that it mattered to her, she hadn't gone. Even though she had been excused, she still felt like she was rebelling against the rules by not going, since she hadn't seen the professor since that morning.

The last of Xavier's powers had finally left her, and Rogue had managed to push aside his ethics-obsessed personality in favor of her own morbid mind. It was refreshing to be able to enjoy hearing only the thoughts of the people she had absorbed, instead of everyone else around.

But their loss did nothing to soothe her troubles.

She had not seen Logan since he had showed up this morning. Though, whether or not that was his fault was in debate. She had hidden in Storm's well-kept garden all day, bathed in the concealing shade of the large Weeping Willow tree in its center. It was not some place anyone would think to look for her. Not even Bobby, who claimed to know her so well. But, then again, Logan was equipped with heightened senses. If he had wanted to speak with her – to catch up and see how she was doing – it wouldn't really be that difficult for him to find her.

Those were the opposing arguments, and since Rogue refused to let Xavier's mind out, it was not a debate that would be settled anytime soon. Even though the Logan inside of her head continuously made it clear that it was her fault.

"There you are!" Rogue jumped slightly at the familiar relieved voice, quickly standing to great the white-haired weather goddess that was quickly approaching. "We've been looking everywhere, Rogue. Bobby's going frantic."

"Ah'm sorry," Rogue whispered, stressed. Storm's words stopped on her lips at the sight of the distressed girl, and she moved forward, going into what Rogue liked to refer to as "mother mode".

"It's alright, honey," the older woman soothed. When Rogue didn't respond, Storm's eyes turned to examine her garden, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I'm come here a lot to think, too. It's quiet, and no one ever bothers to come up here."

"I'm sorry I invaded your privacy," Rogue stated humbly, but Storm just shook her head, smile still in place.

"Don't worry about it," she chastised. "Use it whenever you want. I hardly get time to come up here anymore, so it's doubtful we'll ever interrupt each other." She drew off, and studied her student. "I thought you'd be in a good mood today, now that Logan's back and everything." She was surprised when Rogue snorted.

"Why should I be?" She inquired, turning away with an angered frown on her face. "He could obviously care less if were here or not. He's got someone new to take care of now, doesn't he?" Storm frowned.

"Rogue, you know that isn't true," the weather mutant scolded lightly. "Logan cares about you. Has since the day he picked you up, actually." The teenager looked down at the rebuke, ears slightly red, knowing the truth in her teacher's words, yet not quite ready to admit it. With a sigh, she crouched down by the tree trunk once more, not resting on it as before, but letting it be there for support nonetheless.

"It's just, he's all I got," she explained finally, eyes studying the grass with faux interest. With gentle grace only a former goddess could posses, Storm knelt down beside her, reaching out an unseen hand to brush Rouge's long white stripe out of her face, careful not to touch her skin. Brown eyes glanced up, and Storm offered her a small smile.

"Then go talk to him." She stood then, offering her hand to take Rogue's gloved one, and the younger girl relented with a sigh.

"Tomorrow," she said after a moment. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. Let him and his new … uh … friend settle in." Storm's eyes flashed, but there was no anger within the warm brown depths. Just relief, and a bit of concern.

"Give John a chance, Rogue. He hasn't had it any easier than you."

Storm turned and began to walk away, and Rogue watched her go, a slight smirk in place. That woman was more her mother than her actual mother had ever been, or would ever be again. And she was right – Rouge would eventually have to talk to Logan. Tomorrow, in fact.

But giving 'John' a "chance" could most certainly wait until later.

**0o0 **

Robert Drake.

Normally, he was one of Professor Xavier's prized pupils. He was intelligent, polite, and so powerful he was almost guaranteed a place within the X-Men. He had an equally well behaved and powerful girlfriend, hung around in all of the right social circles, and rarely, if ever, gave anyone any trouble.

So if anyone was aware of his current thoughts and attitude, they would be quite surprised.

Because Bobby was beyond infuriated, and he was constantly letting the walls know it.

He had to share a room with a _fire mutant_.

Usually, Bobby wouldn't have a problem sharing his room. He had done it before, with Victor Johnson, an empathy, and Drew Davies, who had the power to freeze time (both quite annoying idiots to live with). So it wasn't the fact that he had a new roommate.

It was the fact that said new roommate could produce and manipulate _fire_.

Bobby could produce and manipulate _ice_. It was just a catastrophe waiting to happen.

In fact, if this new kid, _John,_ hadn't been under the _Wolverine's_ care, Bobby would be letting the teen know exactly how he felt. However, as that was case, "Iceman" took out his frustrations on the wall, freezing before he got to it, and then bashing it in as he passed it.

John, who was walking behind the temperamental older boy, was far from impressed. Even he knew better than to let anger get the better over him for such trivial things. So Bobby didn't like him, big deal. John wasn't too fond of him either, but he wasn't burning down the walls.

But he was seriously reconsidering his decision to stay. Maybe he could convince Logan to take him and Rogue and get out of here. That way, Logan could still help her, and they wouldn't have to stay in this freak show.

"Here." Bobby's voice was bitter as he drew to a halt in front of a thin, brown wooden door. "This is my … _our_ … room." He pushed the obstacle aside, and entered. John, his hands jammed into his pockets, followed.

"Don't touch my stuff," the other teen warned instantly. "That's everything that's covered in ice."

John bit back a sarcastic, crude comment he had picked up from Logan, and remained quiet, slowly noticing that the only thing not covered was a small patch of floor and a small, bare bed.

"That's where you sleep."

_No shit. _

"I'm going out with my friends. Friday night and all. Everything better be the same when I get back."

Bobby said nothing else to him, reaching out to snatch a jacket off of his bed before making a swift exit, slamming the door behind him. John winced at the loud noise.

For a few minutes, he just stood there, observing. He didn't know what half of the stuff in the tiny confine was, but without Bobby there, there was no one around to ask. Feeling his stomach fall slightly, John cast a cautious glance toward his bed, scrunching his nose at it.

"_Show 'em you're the wrong guy to piss around with_." Logan's earlier words flowed over him, making him grin at the helpful advice. He highly doubted his savior would find anything wrong with what he was about to do.

John extended his right palm, curling his fingers upward, and focused on it. With passionate concentration, he formed a small fireball in his hand. Little enough to get the job done without causing a fire. Gently, he lowered it to the frozen ground, smirking as it quickly traveled over the thin ice sheet, leaving nothing but a large puddle and soaked objects in its wake.

With a final glance and a roll of his gleaming blue eyes, John left the room, smirk still firmly in place.

_**To Be Continued …**_

_Damn. Angst city. At least I managed some humor. _

_I think? _

_Seven thousand words. I better have managed at least **one line** of humor. _

_I really hoped you liked it. It was torture to write, I tell ya! John just didn't want to like anyone, no matter how much I tried. Annoying little moody mutant. Not to mention that both Stryker and Scott were dead set on staying out of this chapter. _

_And, yes, Bobby was a bit out of character. I did that on purpose. If you don't like it, well … tough? _

**Next Chapter: **_Rogue and Pyro action (finally), and maybe some Logan and Storm. Lots more action (explosive, really). Let's just say that dangerous powers and pissed off, dramatic teenagers don't mix. _

**X4 Update: **Ok, spoiled readers, don't think you're getting these every chapter! -snorts- Here you go. This is what Fox Head-guy Tommy Rothman had to say on the subject of X3 and X4.

"It's the conclusion of this trilogy. These three movies work as a trilogy. These characters in this relationship, it's the culmination of that saga. It's the culmination and the resolution of those relationships laid out in the first two movies. That doesn't mean never, I would ever say never again, but I will say that this brings that saga to an end. It's quite the way the last Lord of the Rings, Return of the King, brought that trilogy to a conclusion in terms of those characters, that's what this movie does. It goes all the way back to the first one and rounds off and completes that three-part story".

Read into it and X4 is beyond a certainty.

**Rumors: **Third spinoff? Fan sites are going crazy over rumors of the movie Rogue, which promises to be the back-story of our favorite nonvampire … vampire.

Tom Felton supposedly in negotiations to play the role of Quick Silver. That's Draco Malfoy, for all you Harry Potter fans out there. Personally, I think he would be perfect for the role. -grin-.

And is the long-awaited Remy LeBeau finally to make an appearance? No solid proof, but thousands of fans are dead certain he is (and maybe he'll take Marie away from the cheating Bobby. Hehehehehehe.)

(O)

_Ok, guys, I'm off. Gotta write the companion story to It'll Be Alright (read that one yet?), as well as other stuff. Leave me a review (and comment on something other than X4 news) Haha. _

_Adios, amigos! _

_Me_


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